


Time After Time

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternating Timelines, Bottom Sam, Character Death from Old Age, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel via a Spell, Wincest Reverse Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6808609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam finds another 'Hand of God' the brothers might finally  have a way to destroy the darkness.  However, this involves time travel and as Castiel isn't <i>himself</i> Crowley steps in.  As the ritual involves the blood of the youngest, Sam finds himself in Victorian England while Dean waits at home.  What neither of them know is Sam is not coming home.  Their story is told in a series of postcards and somehow the brothers Winchester keep their brotherly bond alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time After Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was my second piece written for the [Wincest Reverse Bang Challenge 2016](http://wincest-reverse.livejournal.com/) on LJ.  
> The art work was done by the lovely [powerbottomsammywinchester](http://powerbottomsammywinchester.tumblr.com/)/[Starkfeels](http://starkfeels.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The art work can be found [Here](http://starkfeels.tumblr.com/post/144144410035/to-be-edited)

**2060 – Lebanon, Kansas**

 

A layer of dust covers everything, but the old place still works; it lights up as the key is inserted in the lock and the antiquated computer system creaks into life. 

He takes the steps cautiously one at a time, at his age you have to be extra careful and his limbs are not what they used to be. When he gets to ground level he has to sit for a spell, breath wheezing thick in his throat. He blames his watering eyes on old age and weakness and his thick throat on the cold. He never thought he would come back here but it’s been near on forty-four years and he had to see it one more time before he died.

The corridors echo emptily as he hobbles down each one. His memory isn’t what it was, so it takes him a while. When he finally finds the door he’s been looking for he has to lean against it for a moment overcome by exhaustion and emotion. Perhaps he was wrong to come here, perhaps he should have listened to his head and not his heart.

Old wood creaks alarmingly as he finally pushes it open; the room is dark, cobwebs hanging heavy in every corner. It doesn’t look very homey but it never did. There is a bed, a small lamp and a desk. He lowers himself onto the bed and pulls open the desk drawer. He reaches inside, his fingers searching frantically and, to his relief, the postcards are still there, still bundled up and tied with blue ribbon. Old and faded but there. For a long moment he holds them in his hands, turns them over and over on his palm. They are the only things he has left, the one reminder of what he once had, and what he had lost. Decades had passed since he’d last looked at them; it had been too painful, too raw but now he needed to see them again.

He makes his way to the kitchen on wobbly legs. It’s warmer in the bunker now so he takes off his coat and puts on the coffee pot. His knuckles are swollen and his fingers clumsy but he manages to make himself a passable brew. He stares down at the bundle before him and swallows hard. Water drips onto the cards, smearing the ink and he lets himself say it, let’s himself say the name he has kept buried in his heart like a treasure. “Sammy.”

 

****

 

**2016 Lebanon, Kansas**

 

“Another hand of God? Are you sure?” Dean can’t stop himself from pacing. He feels almost powerless, restless like a caged animal. “Fuck, Sam we could actually do this. We could destroy Amara once and for all.”

“I could destroy Amara.” Sam’s eyes are soft when he raises them from his laptop. “We discussed this, Dean. When you said you wouldn’t be able to do it . . . weren’t capable of doing it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He can’t stop the flush of shame that floods his body and he rubs his hand across his face. He feels rough, used and he wonders what he looks like. It had been several days since he showered, even longer since he shaved or cut his hair. “You will destroy the bitch.”

“Dean.” Sam was on his feet then and long arms came up and around his shoulders. He found himself pressed hard against that firm chest and he wondered when it had happened; wondered when his little brother had become his protector rather than the other way around. “Dean – we released her together, and we’ll kill her together. Doesn’t matter who does the deed. It is and always has been a two man job.”

He let Sam hold him just that little bit longer and then he pushed hard against soft flannel and Sam was forced to let him go. He stepped back awkwardly and shook his head.

“I’m pretty sure that counted as some sort of chick flick thing.”

Sam laughed then and sat back down at his laptop.

“Let me do some more research,” he mumbled. “I don’t want to get our hopes up. Who knows where this ‘Hand of God’ is now, it might be another dead end.”

“I have every faith in you, Sammy.” Dean slumped down opposite his brother. 

 

****

 

**2060 – Lebanon, Kansas**

 

He’s read them so many times that he knows every word but it’s been a while and he wants to savor them now, run his fingers across them in a sentimental way, imagine his brother’s face as he was writing it all down. He hasn’t laid eyes on Sam for forty years or more but he doesn’t need to, his brother lives in his memory, sharp and clear. He can still hear Sam’s voice in his head; still feel Sam’s huge hands on his skin. There was a time when he thought he wouldn’t be able to live without his brother, and he considered death a welcome release. These stupid cards had saved his life and, for that, he was grateful.

Sam had always been the artistic one, the clever one. Sam was eloquent and had a broad vocabulary. He was certain that left alone, Sam would have graduated from Stanford with full honors and that he would have made one hell of a lawyer. Even if he had been an awesome hunter, one of the best, Dean still blamed himself for wasting his brother’s talents, and for wasting his brother’s life.  
He picked up the postcards and held them tight against his chest; at least Sam had had something of a normal life, the cards were testament to that. Dean only wished he could have seen his brother, seen what sort of man he had become. He’d have to take comfort in the fact that Sam had been happy or appeared to be happy. It was all he had.

He took a sip of the cooling coffee and slowly unfastened the ribbon. He set it to one side and picked up the first card. He smiled to himself as he stared at Sam’s neat and precise writing. Trust Sammy to come up with something like this.

 

****

 

**2016 Lebanon, Kansas**

 

Sam looked weary; there were black shadows beneath his eyes and his mouth was pursed into a thin, tense line. Dean pushed a cup of coffee towards him, black and strong.

“Your face doesn’t tell me this is good news.”

Sam sighed and took a gulp of the coffee. He let his fingers play over the laptop keys and stared at the screen again as if he could make something happen just by willing it on.

“This one is really powerful Dean, really powerful. There are so many articles about it online and, unlike the others we’ve seen or heard of, this one appears to work more than once.”

“Sounds awesome.” Dean knew, just by the tone of Sam’s voice, that something wasn’t quite right. “And the problem is?”

“It was last seen in the British Museum in 1886. Vanished from there around that time, and was never heard of again.” Sam’s eyes met his and Dean knew exactly what he was going to say. “Someone took it, but there are no records of who or why. This could be it, Dean. This is it.” He turned the screen so Dean could look at it. There, illustrated in full color, was a large wooden cup. It was roughly hewn and looked almost prehistoric. “Most experts say it was the definite article . . . the Holy Grail.”

“Very Indiana Jones, Sammy,” he tried for light-hearted but Sam’s face fell further and Dean felt his grin wipe away. “Okay,” he said, finally. “So it was powerful but it’s gone, and we don’t have a fucking clue as to where.”

“I get that, but we know where it was up to that point. Time travel, Dean! We’ve done it before.”

“Cas isn’t exactly Cas anymore, Sam and I don’t think Lucifer is going to do us a solid, do you?”

“There’s Crowley.”

“I’m not sure he can work that much mojo and, even if he could, I don’t have the faintest idea where the limey mook actually is. He hasn’t exactly been high profile recently.”

“We could summon him.”

“This is fucking risky Sam. I’m not sure we should.”

“We want to be rid of Amara, don’t we?” Speckled hazel eyes met his and Dean could see the painful desperation there. “I’m tired, Dean. I’m fucking tired and I want to rest. I want us to have some sort of normality for once. I’m not ready to die, Dean. I’m not ready to be plunged into the void. This could be our one and only chance and we have to take it.”

There was nothing he could say, no reply that would satisfy Sam. They could both be stubborn bastards when it came to something like this and he knew that there would be no stopping his brother not if he thought he could save the world.

“Okay Sam,” the words caught in his throat and he licked his lips, his mouth dry and painful. “Let’s summon Crowley. What’s the worst that could happen?”

And it was almost worth it just to see his brother smile.

 

****

 

**2060 – Lebanon, Kansas**

 

The first postcard is brown with age, incredibly girly and old fashioned. There is a flowery boarder around the edge and a peeling pink stamp that proclaims it cost 1 penny. The postmark is faded badly but Dean knows, without doubt, that it reads London. Sam’s handwriting was deliberately small so that he could fit on as much as possible. He appeared to be writing with some sort of quilled pen, and a lot of it had been smudged where Sam had obviously not been used to it.

_Dean, I know by the time you get this you are gonna be beside yourself with worry, and all I can say is that I’m so sorry. There is no other way of letting you know what happened here, and no other way for me to guide you to the grail. It’s real, Dean. It’s fucking real and it is gonna help us – you – kill Amara once and for all._

_I know you might not be able to do it but there are others, trusted friends, still around (I hope) who can help you. I guess you’ve already been in touch with Jodie and maybe Donna. It seems strange not being able to talk to you, strange not hearing you cuss and moan. God, I miss you so much Dean, and I’d give anything to see you one more time (not my soul though – there’s no deals going down here so don’t get your panties in a twist.)_

_These cards are my only way of trying to send this message to you. I’m gonna try and write it all down, a sort of postcard journal if you will, and then all I need to do is to try and find a way to get it to you. Easy, huh?_

_It’s October 1886 and it’s so cold here. You’d piss yourself Dean if you knew how easy I fit in with my ‘mutton chops’ as Crowley called them (and don’t blame him Dean – I know he’s an evil douche, but it wasn’t his fault. The spell worked, but it worked too well.) I guess you know by now that I’m not coming back, and it hurts . . . hurts so much right down inside._

_After what happened, well let’s just say there’ll never be anyone else for me but you . . . but don’t let that stop you meeting someone. You need someone to take care of Dean, I know that. All I can hope is that, for once, you’ll listen to me._

****

 

**2016 Lebanon, Kansas**

 

Crowley certainly didn’t look his old self; he looked cowed, eyes shifting nervously as he drank his whiskey.

“I can do it.” He gave them both a once over, cursory and sharp. “Does it mean that bastard Lucifer will be gone once and for all? Amara dust in the wind?”

“I guess.” Sam was tired of making promises, worn out with making deals. “It’s worth a shot, huh?”

“Oh yes, Moo. . . Sam,” the nickname appeared to stick in his throat and he looked over his shoulder as if he expected something to happen, someone to appear. “That bastard has taken what is mine, and I want it back.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I can’t zap you back,” he continued. “But I have this spell. It works with blood, and I can’t guarantee anything.”

“No guarantees, no deal,” Dean’s voice was low and angry

“I’m not talking to you.” Crowley’s tongue moistened his dry mouth. “I’m talking to Sam.”

“Sam’s not the one going.” Dean’s green eyes were as cold as jade. “I’m the one who does the time travel around here.”

“Not this trip.” Crowley examined his fingernails for a moment and brushed an imaginary hair of his shabby looking suit. “This spell calls for the blood of the youngest. It is as simple as that, you do it and it won’t work.”

Dean opened his mouth but Sam held up his hand and shook his head.

“I’ll do it Dean. One moment and I’ll be back in the blink of an eye.”

“You need to be here Sammy,” he tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. “You need to be the one that ices that bitch.”

“I’ll be here.” Sam was already on his feet, closing his laptop, making plans. “When can we do this?” He addressed his question to Crowley.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Crowley said and looked, frankly, relieved. “The sooner we do this the better. I want to be rid of that bastard who took my kingdom. Mugging bastard in an angel suit! As soon as he’s back behind doors the better. The only good thing he did was kill my bitch of a mother.”

Dean watched the interaction between them with some trepidation. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like this at all. Still there was no taking it back now. Sammy was finally on his quest for the Holy Grail and Dean could only sit back and hope that everything didn’t go to shit.

****

 

**2060 – Lebanon, Kansas**

 

At the time it had taken Dean a while to realize that the postcards had been written in some sort of order. He blamed the fact he was emotionally drained and close to going fucking mad for not actually noticing. Typical of Sammy to be so controlled, always the more level headed of the two of them, not that that was saying much.

He held the second card in his hand for a long time, this one was more ‘traditional’. Just a crumpled piece of paper with creases across the writing and the same postmark and the date which read, November 1 1886.

_Dean – I’m walking along the Thames and it’s colder than fucking ever. The river is actually frozen and it looks beautiful. There are artists sitting on the banks trying to capture the moment and one or two people using these ‘new-fangled’ cameras. I’m like a fish out of water here, but it’s getting easier to fit in. There’s a girl – Madeline – she’s the daughter of the curator and she is gonna get me a special viewing of the Grail. I guess I’m gonna have to work out how to steal it and how to get it to you somehow. I have to work at being geek boy. There are no laptops here, as you are well aware._

_I miss you so much big brother. Sometimes, at night, I sit and watch the stars and imagine that we are on the hood of the Impala with a beer in our hands. I can still remember what you look like, what you sound like and, if I close my eyes, I can almost feel you next to me._

_Don’t try to follow me by making any stupid deals Dean. By the time you get these postcards I’m gonna be long gone. We were always so stupidly co-dependent - not that I minded . . . not towards the end anyway. I’d give anything to get back to you but I’m not giving my soul.  
Tomorrow I’m gonna see the Grail for myself. Let’s hope it was worth it. _

 

****

 

**2016 – Lebanon Kansas**

 

They have two days grace before Sam goes. Dean isn’t sure how he wants to spend it and Sam seems restless, confused. He tries to keep Dean in the loop, shows Dean the clothes he’s laid his hands on, Victorian garments that he hopes will make Dean laugh. He models them for him and smiles so wide there are dimples. Dean finds himself taking every inch of Sam in, looking at him from head to toe. There, in the middle of the bunker on a Saturday night, Dean realizes just how much he loves his brother, and he doesn’t quite know how to say it without it seeming like goodbye.

He’s almost asleep when he hears the timid knock on his bedroom door. Sam comes in without waiting for an answer and he’s wearing his Victorian pants with the suspenders hanging loose around his slender hips. The collarless shirt is undone, showing flashes of nut brown skin and Dean’s mouth is dry.

“Sammy?”

His brother comes right over and kneels at the foot of his bed crawling upwards towards him slow and sure, hazel eyes dark with something Dean can’t identify, big hands reaching up to grab Dean by the shoulders and then they are kissing, hard fast and desperate.

Sam is almost on top of him and Dean can feel his hardness through the soft cotton of the sheet, feel his breath hot and heavy against his neck. He doesn’t ask why or for how long, he just helps Sam out of his clothing, pulling down his pants, fumbling with his undergarments, revealing acres and acres of skin, feeling the firmness of Sam’s muscles, and the strength that is in him both internally and externally. He doesn’t know how it happens but, suddenly, Sam is on his back on the bed and Dean is leaning over him elbows at either side of his head. The two of them are panting hard now; sweat sticking their skin together as if they were glued solid. Sam’s eyes were dark with lust as he opened his legs wider so that Dean could slip between them. He moved his hand up Sam’s thigh and rested it for a moment on his hip-bone. Sam groaned and shifted and Dean laughed getting the message. He slipped his fingers across and wrapped them soft around Sam’s cock feeling it leak against the palm of his hand, hearing his brother’s harsh and hitching breathing.

They shouldn’t do this but they do. Dean finds lube in his drawer and he uses it on his brother – on his brother – it isn’t wrong though. As his fingers enter Sam, move gently inside, it feels nothing but right. Sam’s legs part wider and he lifts his body so that Dean has better access. One finger becomes two and then three and all of a sudden Sam’s thighs are gripping his waist and he’s crying out in agony and ecstasy as Dean enters him.

They are joined in all ways now; brothers, family, lovers. There was never any doubt, not really, Sam was always Dean’s, would always be Deans. What they had together would never be equaled and it is about more than lust and need, it’s about love and there is no one Dean loves more than his brother.

Sam comes with Dean’s name on his lips, clenches so tight that Dean follows him down. The two of them cling to each other and it is a long time before Sam let’s Dean slip out of him, even longer before he rolls away and gets something to clean them up with. Dean wants to ask if this is going to happen again but the smile on Sam’s face is answer enough.

 

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2060**

 

Even after all these decades Dean’s cheeks heat up at the thought of what happened in those nights before Sam went back in time. He hadn’t known then that he’d never see his brother again, never get to have him like that again. For the first few months he’d thought that maybe he was being punished but later, after he’d found the postcards, he realized that it wasn’t punishment but a reward, something he could cling to, something that kept him from taking a gun to his head.

_Dean – you’d laugh at how easy it was, especially with our skills_

The third postcard was written on the back of a sepia photograph of the British Museum. Dean had been there a few decades back and he’d been surprised at how much it hadn’t changed. He’d stood in the places he knew Sam had been, wandered down corridors where Sam’s footsteps had once echoed. It had been after that visit that he’d started writing postcards of his own. Bright, gaudy views of American landmarks, photos of the biggest ball of twine in the state. He didn’t know why he’d started but it made him feel better like the best form of therapy. It was almost as if he was talking to Sam, communication that would never reach his brother, but communication all the same. 

_Taking the Grail from the museum was like taking candy from a fucking baby. I was so fucking happy all I wanted to do was to tell you. So I stole this fucking postcard too! Awesome._

_I have now got to think about how I get it to you. I tried summoning Crowley again but nothing. Did you kill him, Dean? I know you, and I know you would blame him for what happened to me. If you did do anything then don’t feel guilty. He said he couldn’t help me anyway, and after all he’d done over the years, I guess he deserved to die._

_Part of me thinks I should go back to America and that it might be easier from there but Madeline has offered me a room in her house and a job at the museum. Guess she wouldn’t be so keen if she knew the truth. Perhaps I might be able to find a photograph of her to send to you. I know what you’d say – that for a Victorian chick she’s hot, but I’m not interested. Guess I’m gonna be celibate for a long time but I’m in love with someone else._

_As soon as I get an idea I’ll write again. I need to find a way to get these postcards and the Grail to you. Gonna be hard to get everything right but I’m gonna try Dean. I hope you don’t have to fight Amara for too long without me._

Dean blinked, his eyes stinging. That year had been the longest year of his life but he’d come through it and it was all down to Sam.

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2016**

 

The night they did the ritual was cold and stormy, lightening rent the sky and it looked like something out of a cheesy horror film. Sam was dressed in his Victorian garb and ready to go. He looked pale in the ethereal light of the candles, and his expression was unreadable. Dean knew that his brother was scared, fuck he himself was terrified that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be able to get his brother back.

Crowley took blood from Sam’s wrist and added it to the metal bowl of ingredients. He mouthed the incantation, voice pitched low and the whole room lit up with a sudden flash of lightning. When Dean could see again Sam was gone and so was Crowley. Now only time would tell.

 

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2060**

 

_Time seems to pass so slowly here. Life is much more sedate than it was back when we were hunting. Madeline has shown me some interesting places (and don’t let your gutter mind go there Dean – I mean in and around London) to visit, and I spend a lot of my time at the museum researching. I have everything I need; the Grail, the spell, even the fucking ingredients but I still don’t know how to get them to you. God, I miss you more every single day, I miss everything about you. I never thought I’d be able to live without you, and I have to confess that it’s hard. Harder still not knowing if you will ever get these things, or knowing if you are alive or dead. I’m not giving up though, Dean. Every time I sit at this desk to write I imagine you are just a few miles away rather than hundreds of years. Sometimes I take myself in hand – you know – just to take the edge off. Never thought I would ever find true love. Never thought it would be with my brother. I do love you Dean, and I know you don’t like chick flick moments but your gonna have to suck this one up._

Dean put the postcard down and stared off into the distance. On days like today he felt so old and so tired that he felt closer to Sam than ever. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could see his brother. He could see that stupidly long hair, those dimples and see that wide smile, that was only ever present for Dean. He’d lived a long time and he’d lived a good life all things considered. Between them they’d managed to gank Amara but Sam would never know and that hurt more than it should do. Hurt right down to his old bones.

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2016**

 

It had been six days and Dean was beginning to realize that something had gone horribly wrong. According to Crowley Sam should have been back by now, back home to Dean with the Grail in his hands, back and ready to destroy Amara. He’d tried to summon the _King of Hell_ but Crowley didn’t show. At one point he’d been so desperate he’d actually tried to contact Castiel/Lucifer but nothing on that front either. 

Dean had never felt more alone. He had no one to turn to or anyone that could help him. He spent hours in the _Men of Letters_ library but his endless research had turned up nothing whatsoever. He couldn’t sleep and he wasn’t eating, and all he could do was think about Sam. He would wonder constantly if his brother was alive or dead. In the meantime, Amara was on the rampage destroying everything in her path as she desperately searched for her _brother_. Hunters contacted him all the time, but he ignored their calls. The world could go to hell as far as he was concerned. All he cared about was Sam.

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2062**

 

_Madeline’s father is dying and, today, he asked me if I would consider taking her hand in marriage. He was so worried about her welfare and I could relate to that. I said I would give it some thought, but I guess I’m gonna go through with it. She has been a good friend to me and without her I think I would have gone mad._

_It’s been two years since I got here and I’m still no nearer to finding a solution. I need to get the Grail to you somehow but no one even knows I have it. I’ve kept it hidden and safe. The authorities have been searching for it since it ‘went missing’ but they don’t really have much to go on. I’m pretty sure that Madeline’s father wouldn’t want his daughter to marry me if he knew the truth._

_I’ve not given up hope yet Dean. I keep looking for a solution, keep researching. I can’t believe we won’t ever see each other again._

Dean picked up another postcard, from Paris this time with a French postmark. The writing has been smudged so badly that Dean couldn’t read all of it, but he knows the gist of it, has read it so many times in the past. It has made him feel happy and sad in equal measure. Happy that his brother had someone, sad that it wasn’t him. 

_I’m on honeymoon, Dean. I guess you never thought you’d hear me say that. I never thought that either of us would settle down to a life that didn’t involve hunting but I haven’t much choice in the matter. Madeline’s father wanted to see us married before he passed, and it was the least I could do._

_It feels weird having a wife. Madeline understands, or at least I think she understands that this isn’t a love match. She often asks about my family and it hurts me to pretend that I’m an orphan, and an only child. She also asks about my ‘lost love’ but I can’t tell her anything. I tell her that it hurts too much to discuss it, and I’m not lying. I can’t mention your name, can’t even think about you without it hurting. Call me a sap if you will but that’s how it is._  
It feels weird, knowing that by the time you get this – if you ever get this – I will be long dead. I’ll be history. Sometimes it blows my mind, and I try not to think too deeply. I’m alive here and now, and yet I haven’t even been born yet.  
I guess I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not ever coming back. I’m trapped here and I’ve got to make the best of it. I wish I could talk to you one more time. I wish I knew that you are safe and happy. What happens with Amara is in the future for me, and I’ll never know if you managed to gank her. I’ll never know if you get these messages from ‘the past’ or not. That’s the most frustrating thing I guess, and all I can do is hope and pray. We deserve a break Dean, let’s hope we get one. 

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2017**

 

Seven months since Sam disappeared and Dean has lost it. Amara has a lot of the world in her hands, she is eating souls at a tremendous rate and there is no one around to stop her. Wherever Crowley is, he isn’t answering and if Lucifer possessed Castiel because he was going to stop Amara that isn’t working either.

Dean is in a motel room, there is a gun in his hand and enough bullets to do the job properly. His hand is shaking and he lowers it to rest it against the faded coverlet. Veins stand out blue and purple against the off white cotton, and he swallows down bile.

He isn’t afraid to die. In fact he hoped his lifestyle choice might have killed him weeks ago. He hasn’t eaten properly since Sam _left_ and his drink of choice is strong but cheap scotch. He guesses he must have lost about 20lbs and he can see his own ribs now. His muscle mass is shot to shit, and he wouldn’t be up for the fight even if he was to find a way. Billie and the void are waiting for him, and he isn’t gonna hang around a moment longer.

There is a knock on the door which he ignores. He told the maid not to bother him, and he’s paid up till the end of the week. The knock comes again, more insistent this time, and he lets go of the gun and stands up on wobbly legs.

“Fuck off,” he cries weakly.

“Dean.”

It’s Castiel’s voice – the real Castiel – and Dean can’t quite believe it. He clears his throat and the knock comes again.

“Dean you have to let me in.”

Before he can move the door swings open and Cas walks through without hesitation. His coat flares out behind him as he strides towards Dean, and there is a look of pure determination in those clear blue eyes. Dean wants to know so many things . . . what happened to Lucifer? How did Cas find him? But he can’t get the words out and he just stares.

“I have something for you.” Castiel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a newspaper. It’s been neatly folded as if it was something precious, and Dean takes it with trembling fingers. “Read it,” Castiel continues. “You need to read it.”

It’s a daily paper from Lebanon in Kansas. Dean’s bought an issue from time to time. Sam used to like to read it when they were holed up in the bunker and they would often use it for movie listings and where they could find the best Chinese takeout. Dean wants to know why Castiel is carrying this one in his pocket. He spreads it out on the bed and, at that moment, his heart starts pounding so damn hard he thinks he might have some sort of cardiac arrest.

**Kansas Man’s Collection Returns Home but his last request causes headache for local curators.** The headline reads, and underneath it there is a picture. Old and grainy, but unmistakably Sam.

The bed bounces soft under his body as he collapses onto it. Dean can hear Castiel’s voice speaking to him but it sounds distant and underwater. All he can do is to gape at the photograph, tears pouring relentless down his cheeks, the taste of salt on his lips.

Sam looks years older but he still has that stupidly long hair and those ill-advised mutton chops. He’s smiling and his slanting eyes are bracketed by the lines of age, dimples deep in his wrinkled cheeks. He’s wearing a Victorian dress coat and waistcoat with a crisp shirt and tie underneath. He’s looking straight at the camera and it’s almost as if he’s smiling at Dean.

“What the . . . ?” He can’t speak, his fingers tracing convulsively over the paper covering the tips with ink and smearing his face with it.

“You have to read it,” Cas says and nudges him gently. “Your brother is a very clever man.”

_Sam Winchester, curator at the British Museum, died in London in 1920 but his last will and testament is still shrouded in mystery. Sam was originally from Kansas, but he spent his formative years in Great Britain. He was known to be an avid collector of all things supernatural, and he had many unusual objects in his care. Before his death he wrote a letter which he left in a vault in the Bank of England with instructions that it would not be read until the year 2017._

_Last week the letter was finally opened but the mystery has deepened further. It appears that Sam left all of his worldly goods to a secret society called **The Men of Letters**. He insisted that they were taken from Britain to the USA and given to any surviving members of this society. Executers for Winchesters estate are now trying to find out if this antiquated society still exists. Anyone who has any knowledge of this should contact this paper. We believe that Sam Winchester’s estate and collection are worth millions. _

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2060**

 

The writing on the postcard was shaky at best and it was obvious that Sam was growing older, this particular missive was postmarked Westminster and had a bright red stamp in the corner. 

_I finally figured out what I’m gonna do and I can only hope that it works out. I’m not getting any younger, and it’s getting harder and harder to actually see let alone write anything down. My mind has the tendency to wander too and I keep forgetting what you look like. It breaks my heart that I can’t remember and I’m sorry, so sorry that I never made it back to you but I will make it right Dean. I promise._

_I’ve been collecting all manner of interesting artefacts over the years. Most of them pertain to the supernatural; protection charms, amulets and objects from various digs. You’d laugh at how respectable I became. I was curator at the British Museum with quite a substantial salary, a nice home in the suburbs and a Labrador dog. I never had kids though, it never really happened for us and I can’t say I’m sorry. I guess it wasn’t meant to be, so there won’t be a British branch of the Winchester family tree._

_By now you should have gotten all these postcards and the objects that go with them. There are instructions on how to use the Grail and, hopefully, save the world (again). The stuff here is worth a lot of money Dean, so when it’s all over you can sell it on and make your fortune. Buy yourself a nice house and don’t rot away in the bunker. I know you only too well Dean, and I can only hope that this gets to you in time and that you’ve not done something stupid already._

Dean smiled to himself. Sam knew him too well and he was glad his brother would never know just how close he’d come to putting a gun in his mouth and ending it all. He had Cas to thank for that, and he didn’t like to think of what might have happened if the angel hadn’t found the newspaper and brought it to him on that fateful day.

It had taken a while for the angel to convince him he had to collect what was his. Sam had done this for him, had spent his life making sure that he got the Grail to Dean. This was his chance to end Amara once and for all, and he wasn’t going to let his brother down again.

****

 

The museum in Lebanon was old and stuffy and it smelt of old furniture and wax polish. The curator looked at Dean with suspicion, looked him up and down as if he could see beyond the smart suit Dean had worn for the occasion, the scorn on his face obvious.

“And you claim to be the last surviving _Man of letters_ ” he snorted. “Do you have proof of that?”

“Oh yes.” Dean reached into the briefcase that Cas insisted he also buy. He pulled out a wedge of papers and handed them over to the, frankly, astonished curator. “These papers were drawn up by the original Men of Letters and they explain everything.” He smiled tightly. “I’m the last one standing,” he said. “My brother died a long time ago,” and even saying that much made his throat ache. “What you need is right there. Please don’t take too long.”

The wait seemed interminable but, finally, the curator looked up and he was smiling. When he called Dean over his attitude had changed completely and Dean knew, right then and there, that everything was going to be alright.

He put the two huge boxes into the back of the Impala and drove ‘home’ to the bunker where Cas was waiting. The angel looked pale and tired and Dean knew that he must have fought hard to rid himself of Lucifer. He didn’t know or care right now where Satan might have gone; all he wanted to do was open the boxes and _see_ his brother for the first time in over a year.

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2060**

 

Everything he needed had been in those boxes as well as the postcards that had told Dean what had happened to his brother after he was sent back in time. Bit by painful bit Dean was able to put together the remaining decades of his brother’s life. He’d read every single postcard many times over, savoring each word. Afterwards he’d felt nothing but relief; Sam had survived, he’d managed to have a ‘normal’ life even though he had been a _man out of time_. 

Now all that was left of Sam’s belongings were the postcards. Dean had followed Sam’s instructions and, after he’d used the Grail to destroy Amara, he’d sold the rest of his _collection_ to a museum in New York City. It had made him an instant millionaire, and he had more money than he’d ever be able to spend. It felt weird at first and the money hadn’t really made him happy. He could go anywhere and do anything, but all he really wanted was Sam and he couldn’t ever see that changing.

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas – 2017**

 

The final battle had gone down, ironically, in Detroit. He never really knew why Amara was there but he didn’t much care. He was reckless, careless and, if he died right there and then it would have made him happy. It felt wrong to face evil without Sam by his side, but he could feel his brother’s presence and Sam felt so close that, if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was there.

Castiel was with him. The two of them against the most malevolent thing in the universe and beyond. Amara had grown more and more powerful, charged with the souls of the good and the wicked, glowing and confident, the hold she had over him still as strong as ever. At that moment he felt that he would never be able to resist her. She was smiling; arms open in a welcoming embrace. Dean began to move even before he was aware of it and his last coherent thought was that he was going to let his brother down.

Cas appeared at his side, he put his hand into his pocket and brought out something small and shiny. He held it out to Dean and his eyes held the wisdom of thousands of decades.

“Your brother told me to give this to you if you ever needed protection,” he said, softly and, suddenly, Dean felt soft leather placed around his neck, and the amulet he’d thought lost forever swung against his chest filling him up with warmth and wonder, Amara’s grip on his consciousness broken instantly.

After that it was easy. The Grail infused with holy power burning through Amara’s control. The world imploded and light overpowered the darkness, sending her back to where she had come. Demons and other monsters dragged down with her; Lucifer locked back in his cage, Hell closing over, its gates slammed shut forever.

They had done it. The Winchesters had saved the world again and, this time, the fix would be permanent. Dean sat in the center of _ground zero_ and wept. Tears smearing down his cheeks and the pain in his chest unbearable. It was real now. This victory had made it real. Sam was really gone, and he was never ever coming back. Dean was alone and, by past history, he didn’t do alone very well.

****

 

**Lebanon Kansas 2060**

 

There was one last postcard, a London postmark this time but so blurred by time that Dean couldn’t tell when it was written. The writing was shaky, the message short. This was the end of Sam’s story and it hurt every time he picked it up and read it.

_I never thought I would live to see old bones, but here I am. I’ve lived a long and satisfying life all things considered, and there were times that I was really happy.  
I have never stopped missing you, and I have never stopped loving you. You were always my one true love and more to me than just a brother. The angels said we were frighteningly co-dependent and that much is true. I have managed to live without you for almost sixty years but it hasn’t been easy, and you’ve been in my thoughts every single day._

_This is the last time I’ll write to you. I’m ready to die, and who knows what waits for me on the other side. You did gank Death after all._

_I have faith that we will see each other again._

_Love always (and this is not a chick flick moment, jerk) Sam_

****

 

Dean has one more thing he needs to do. He’s had this postcard for months now; it’s one of these _funny_ ones with a cartoon donkey standing on its hind legs and gesturing to the Grand Canyon. He chose it with Sam in mind, and it makes him laugh wryly every time he sees it.

He sits at the desk and gets out a pen, his own hands are shaking so badly that it’s almost painful to write. If he closes his eyes for a moment he can see himself as a much younger man dressed in plaid and drinking beer from a bottle. In his mind’s eye Sam sits opposite him with his laptop open, knee-deep in research. They share a knowing smile, and Dean feels warm right through to his bones.

He never married but he did quit hunting. He built himself a house just outside of Lebanon so that he was close enough to the bunker to keep his eye on it. He didn’t need to work so he spent his days restoring old classic cars (friends for Baby) and running a tight hunting network. He had visits from Jody and her small adopted family, Donna and her new husband Doug, and youngsters who were still green and inexperienced learning the trade at his hands. Castiel came occasionally but they never talked much about what had gone before. The angel had his own baggage, and Dean couldn’t offer him much in the way of comfort. 

They never, ever discussed Sam.

It’s late and he needs to put the lamp on, the bunker hums around him and he leans back for a moment looking around. The corners of the room look darker than before, and he can’t help but smile. He isn’t scared of what is coming.

He writes slowly, carefully.

_Dear Sam thanks to you the world is a much safer place, and Amara is long gone. You’ll be pleased to know I gave up hunting (well field work anyways) and, like you, I actually lived to see old bones.  
Baby is as sleek and as glossy as ever. I often think of that road trip we took back in the day. Remember Piper? I was real proud of you that day Sam, but deep down I was jealous. I’m glad we got to share something like that before . . . well, before it all went to shit._

_I miss you Sam. I miss you more with every long day that passes. I’m happy you found someone to share your life with, but I’m sad it wasn’t me. I wear my amulet every single day. I never take it off now, because wearing it makes me feel closer to you._

_This is the last thing I’m ever going to write and I don’t care if it is a chick flick moment. I love you, bitch and I’m hopeful that I’m gonna see you again real soon. We made the best team, didn’t we? And we saved the world more than once, so we deserve something._

_I’m on my way Sammy. Love always, Dean_

He puts down the pen and turns off the lamp. Darkness is falling, but it is the good kind of darkness, darkness that will embrace him and take him where he wants to go. He hugs the postcard to his chest and closes his eyes. 

He’s going to deliver this one to Sam personally.

End

 

 


End file.
